A Long Time Until Now by Michael Z. Williamson

four chapsticks and some lotion. It had two boxes of cookies, but we killed those yesterday.”
    “At least it’s mostly useful stuff,” he said.
    Spencer said, “It’s all useful. Someone did us a favor.”
    Alexander pointed to the back of the truck where the box was. “If we ever get back, you can write them a thank you letter. They included their address.”
    “I will,” he said.

    Far Eye was enjoying the evening. It was a little cool, and he pulled his cape in tighter.
    Strangers were here on the Mid Hills. They left a deep trail to the south, up onto the flats, but had a village here, away from any water, flint or good trees.
    Their huts were strange. The sides appeared to be slabs of dun rock, and they were open at the bottom. He also wondered how they’d built and settled here without anyone noticing.
    They were short. Their robes were of a very strange hide, mottled in colors. It wasn’t any animal skin he recognized. It would blend in well if they held still. Two were female, with fine figures, but slender. The strangers wore belts and carried sticks, and their speech was strange. It had few sounds, but they ran the sounds together into a stew of sounds.
    The one atop the rock was obviously a watcher. He held his stick in both hands. It might be a magic stick. It was carved into an odd shape with limbs sticking out cut short.
    “See?” he asked Scraggle.
    “Far away strangers.”
    “Assume.”
    “Meet?” Scraggle asked.
    “Watch. Meet tomorrow maybe.”
    “Maybe spirits?”
    “Look like small people.”
    It was strange to have only two females. None of them looked like children. The men should have mates. They acted almost like a hunting party, except they were villaging, not hunting. They had those large huts.
    They were not like his people. They were not like the other newcomers.
    He would watch. They wouldn’t see him from here.

    Sean Elliott knew he’d done badly, but he felt better now. Though they were still low on water, they were within sight of the river at least. They’d take care of that tomorrow. There were plenty of meat animals to hunt. They’d have to find vegetables to balance it out.
    Trinidad spoke up in his high voice.
    “Sir, there are two humans on the lip to our west.”
    “Stone age?”
    “I dunno, man. They seem to be wearing loose fur hides, so I think so. Tall. One has a dreadlock Mohawk. The other has three stripes of hair, like a skunk.”
    “Are they aware of us?”
    “They know the fire is here and are peering. They think they’re well outside the light. I guess they don’t have night vision.”
    Devereaux said, “The Afghans don’t have night vision.”
    Elliott almost chuckled. “Yeah, we can make those jokes. But the locals have found us. Should we try to contact them?”
    Spencer said, “No, sir, I’d say don’t spook them. We’ll try for daylight.”
    Stone Age people. If they were here for a long time, and it seemed like it, local contact was necessary. Trade. Primitive skills. But it was one more crushing responsibility of many.
    “Sergeant Spencer, can I talk to you for a minute?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Once again they went around the back of Charlie Nine, but only there. He wanted to be within quick reach of the others, just in case.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name. It was on the manifest, but . . .”
    “Martin Spencer, sir.”
    “Martin. Thanks. I don’t want to get too informal, but we need to be friends as much as soldiers until this is over.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’m Sean.”
    “Noted, sir, but I’m going to keep this form of address for now.”
    “That’s fine. And I respect that. How old are you?”
    “Thirty-eight, sir.”
    He hadn’t looked that old before, but now, shaggy with bits of gray in his beard and sunken eyes, he did.
    “Deployed a few times?”
    “Third rotation.”
    “Good. I can rely on you for advice, then. Okay . . .”
    He took a deep breath.
    “I have to sleep sometime. Eventually.